


Too slow, too fast

by Tyelperintal



Series: Things that fall [3]
Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Awkward Flirting, Flirting and Fighting, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Martial Arts, joseon era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25905715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyelperintal/pseuds/Tyelperintal
Summary: A crown prince should be able to defend himself, and Seoho is the one that trains with Geonhak to keep him at top form. In theory.
Relationships: Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Lee Seoho, Kim Geonhak | Leedo/Son Dongju | Xion
Series: Things that fall [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668757
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Too slow, too fast

The most plausible explanation Geonhak has is that he is losing his mind.

It’s the only way to explain the thoughts that creep into his head before he sleeps, and worse yet, _while_ he sleeps. The waking thoughts make him smile, until he catches himself, but the unconscious ones … those make him blush to remember. They’re worse. A plague. He must _have_ a plague. Or else it’s witchcraft, and what Dongju writes isn’t poetry, but spells. Black magic. He’s put Geonhak under a curse.

He should have Youngjo search the man’s clothes for strange and hidden talismans every time he visits—which is more often lately, and not often enough somehow, because Geonhak ends up missing him moments after he’s passed through the palace gate.

No, but if he orders a search and Youngjo has to search Dongju’s clothes, where do they go except off his body? Would he strip completely? Youngjo’s broody expressions and shy smiles make others infuriatingly weak in the knees, from what Geonhak has noticed, and if Dongju—

_If Dongju._

It really _must_ be some kind of ill effect at work here, because Geonhak doubts he’d have the strength to upset Dongju even for a perceived risk to his own life.

There’s clarity in the morning sunlight that makes him recognize his own faulty thinking, the casual disregard for his own safety even amidst a flight of fancy. It’s not right, because his life is not his own to spend or to waste as he sees fit—his life is the future of their kingdom. Words drilled into his head since he was old enough to understand; words no doubt spoken to him before he could understand. (A rebellious and self-disparaging part of him is curious to know what would happen if he did try and run from what bloodlines and fate want him to be, but the guilt would consume him before he began. He’s weak, in that regard. There will be no running.)

With no one in attendance at the court today, the throne room feels too quiet. Geonhak dislikes the way he can hear his own bare feet sticking to the wooden floors. But it’s freeing, too, more so because he isn’t burdened by formal robes for a change—only plain white _dobok_ , identical to that worn by the other man in the room.

Seoho’s sleeping pattern, like much else about him, is irregular. But he shows no signs of weariness for it as he flexes and stretches in the center of the floor.

“You don’t play with me anymore,” he whines as Geonhak approaches. His tone is exaggeratedly childish, but somehow that’s less of a reason for Geonhak’s anger to flare up than the nagging that follows. “Didn’t I say you should keep up the physical training? You should be able to defend yourself…”

“I _can_ defend myself,” Geonhak snaps, and barely has time to throw up an arm in self-defense as Seoho takes a practice jab towards his throat without warning.

But Geonhak makes an error then. He hesitates. Doesn’t leap away, doesn’t counter the blow with an attack of his own.

“You’d be dead now,” Seoho remarks, and retreats a few steps. No point in continuing the exercise when in his mind, he’d already won the bout.

Geonhak glares. “If you were armed.”

“You should be prepared for the worst.”

It’s the game they’ve always played, the game Seoho is accusing him of neglecting. There had been rules at first, proper techniques to follow and skills to build up; as a trusted general’s son, only a year older than Geonhak, Seoho had been given the privilege of training alongside the young crown prince, and then the privilege of becoming his personal guard.

But importantly, Seoho is perhaps the only person who has permission to fight against Geonhak without holding back. In fact, Geonhak trusts him not to—knows that if Seoho were to pull his punches, he’d never learn. To train imperfectly would be little better than not training at all. 

There’s no preamble when Seoho makes another advance, but Geonhak is prepared this time.

It’s a different mindset to slip into, one that’s blessedly bereft of bureaucracy, of tax policies, of paying favors to nobles and dignifying ambassadors. Bereft of doe-eyed distractions with ink-splotches on the fingers Geonhak wants to entwine with his own.

Seoho aims a well-placed kick to Geonhak’s ribcage, and he stumbles backwards. Seoho doesn’t pause; he’s precise in his movements, never wasting the energy he seems to carry in boundless reserves.

It isn’t long before Geonhak can taste blood on the inside of his mouth.

He’s broken a sweat as they dance and fly across the floor, back and forth, but it’s not the heat of the room, not even the heat of exercise blistering under his skin that bothers him the most. It’s Seoho’s grin, the way he tilts his head and looks pleased with himself for holding the upper hand.

Geonhak’s next attack carries the weight of his frustration.

Ah--that’s what he’s been missing. Motivation.

Seoho hits the ground hard enough that the air leaves his lungs with an audible whoosh. Geonhak is kneeling over him a second later, his knees either side of the older man’s chest; one hand traps Seoho’s right arm, the arm that would be carrying a weapon if he was that type of assailant, while he mimics pressing a blade against Seoho’s throat with the other hand. 

He can feel the movement when Seoho swallows. Seoho is looking up at him with his laughing eyes now blown wide, and his lips are open in surprise like there’s an exclamation caught in his throat and waiting to escape; Geonhak imagines his own hand stopping it.

“That’s a little better,” Seoho finally chokes out.

“A little better?” Both of Geonhak’s hands feel sweat. Sweat on his palms, and sweat on Seoho’s skin. The position suddenly makes him feel odd, but he’s too stubborn to release his grip just yet—perhaps a fingerprint-shaped bruise on Seoho’s arm would stop him from smirking so much? “Look where you are.”

“Look how hard you had to work to get me here,” Seoho returns.

Damn everything; the smile is already back. Which should be a warning—

He’s too slow, again. Should’ve realized it was a mistake to leave Seoho’s left arm free, because he flips their position with ease so that Geonhak is the one lying on his back with Seoho hovering over him, his wavy black hair falling in front of his face in a way that’s not long enough to cover the glint in his eye.

If there’s one mercy, though, it’s that Seoho isn’t inclined to pin him there as revenge. For all that he’s not shy to aim a kick, he tends to be flighty when it comes to kinder forms of contact, like his acrobatic flexibility is designed to manoeuver him away from friendly embraces and the like.

He pushes himself to his feet, stretches his shoulders as he takes a few steps away; Geonhak is still staring, until Seoho chides him to get up and do it again.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I had lost this forever but it turned out that I actually saved it as "sedoo.docx" rather than "seodo.docx" :,)
> 
> Who's pumped for the comeback? I am! It's me!


End file.
